A Little Past Midnight
by ifithasapulse
Summary: It's a little past midnight and Draco and Ginny run into each other. After being slapped in the face twice, binding her hands together to stop her from doing it a third time, and passionately making out, what more is left to bring this night to a close?


The first time that I come across Ginny Weasley alone, she slaps me.

* * *

It is a little past midnight on my fifth day staying at Hogwarts during the Christmas break of my seventh year and I have been holed up in my Slytherin dormitory for the past two days, tending to an excruciating mess of bruises and scrapes blossoming across my entire left side, the resulting marks of a particularly harsh tumble down the stairs after a scuffle with an unintelligent Gryffindor (though aren't they all?) and not going to the Hospital Wing out of sheer male ego. Part of me wants to whine to Pansy and have her nurse me until I feel better but knowing Pansy, she would probably snarl at me in a manner that would terrify Voldemort himself and slam the door in my face. Or maybe _at _my face.

You never know with Pansy.

After all, this_ is_ the same girl who once _literally rammed a_ _textbook _(the size and type that Snape favors, which happens to be approximately seven by nine miles in width and length and five miles high) into the delicate groin area of one stunningly stupid fourth year Gryffindor boy who got unwisely cheeky with her. Or more specifically, her arse, which he had paying what Pansy deemed an uncalled for amount of very detailed attention.

After a considerable amount of spectacularly rude swearing and rather a lot of staggering about with the collective grace and poise of a belligerent drunk, I somehow manage to drag myself out of an exceptionally rumpled bed and into an ice-cold shower, which leads to yet another round of first-class swearing of a similar, less-than-polite nature albeit louder now that I am properly awake for the first time in days. Pissed, in rather a lot of pain, furious, and exhausted, I then enter the kitchens, which are, bless Merlin, empty aside from myself, feeling as though abusing several small puppies would be quite fun at this point and sporting an attitude so nasty that it could easily curdle milk. Luckily, I pull this off without anybody spotting me. Hogwarts is mostly empty these days and the only reason that I am here myself is because both my parents had very unfortunate accidents relating to a Christmas party at the Zabinis in which copious amounts of alcohol were consumed, via Firewhiskey shots, and a stray dragon crashed into the side of Zabini Manor, injuring many guests and ruining several priceless artifacts.

This is the part where I close my eyes briefly and pray for Merlin to save those poor drunken morons who somehow got their hands on a stray dragon and let it loose for a laugh. There are so many theories that this type of situation provides that there is honestly nothing left but to shake one's head and write one's parents a get-well-soon card. Which was exactly what I did.

I am slowly but surely making my steady way through a plate of blueberry muffins when I hear someone gasp. Despite my more intelligent brain telling me not to look, my comparatively idiotic hips swivel in my seat to come face to face with none other than Ginevra Weasley.

_Ah, perfect,_ I think caustically. _This is exactly what I bloody needed_.

For Merlin's sake, I'm already moping because of a plethora of reasons. I am in a lot of pain, I am exhausted, I am still in this bloody school and not tucked up in bed with Tolstoy (he may have been a Muggle but he was still brilliant) and a hot mug of Earl Gray, my parents have been critically injured by a runaway bloody dragon-

_CRACK!_

My entire head snaps to the right with an incredible amount of force which I am at once shocked at and oddly impressed with that she possesses and I can feel the immediate rush of blood warming the spot just below my left cheekbone. I hardly have enough time to gather my wits enough to actually comprehend that yes, Ginevra Weasley has indeed just slapped me, Draco Malfoy, across the face hard enough to make my eyes water, when her hand snaps out yet again to whip my head in the opposite direction.

My eyes watering to an embarrassing degree, rushing blood heating up both of my cheeks and rendering my porcelain skin a ruddy shade of which I am not pleased with, my neck suffering from what may very well be whiplash, I slowly, as though underwater, bring a hand to my left cheek, my mouth probably hanging open.

She shoots me a look that screams _TOXIC_ at me, tiny hands fisted at her narrow hips, a vicious glare gracing what would normally be rather attractive features and an angry flush is spreading like a flame along her cheekbones and then the column of her slender throat.

Although what _she_ has to be angry about, I have no idea.

"Weasley, what the bloody hell is the matter with you," I snarl, eyes stinging brutally. I shoot her a glare of my own, renowned for scaring tantrum prone children and terrifying small, fluffy animals.

To both my disbelief and annoyance, Weasley doesn't flinch. "You bastard," she snarls back, stepping closer and invading what I like to call my 'personal bubble.'

"I have no idea what you are talking about, Weasley, but if you will excuse me, I was in the middle of eating this delicious blueberry muf-"

I see her hand shoot out to hit me again and before she even comes close, I whip out my wand and charm her wrists together. Then, for extra measure, I charm her ankles together as well.

Her chocolate eyes widen dramatically and I roll my eyes in exasperation as she begins to struggle valiantly against the ropes. "Don't bother, Weasley," I sigh, a hint of a sneer coloring my tone. "Although, I may be convinced to make them more comfortable if you tell me what you slapped me for."

She graces me with a look so venomous that I am almost impressed. "Eat dirt and die, scum."

A smile curls the corner of my mouth as I chew on a muffin. "Suit yourself, Weasley."

Weasley gives a little huff of impatience then snarls and grits her teeth as she attempts to wrench her wrists apart. After a few minutes of silence, I rise to pour myself a glass of milk, in a considerably better mood than I had been in before, and I see her sitting at the table, looking irritable and snarky and certainly not defeated but at least not fighting the ropes anymore.

When I sit across from her, she raises her head, an adorable pout forming on her lips. She thrusts her wrists out at me, silently asking for them to be released.

"Oh, asking for the scum to help you out now," I ask, buttering a slice of bread while I speak. I arch an eyebrow at her. "Stooping lower than usual, Weasley?"

"Can it, Malfoy," she snaps back.

"This is not making me more sympathetic, Weasley," I sing song, already feeling better than before.

She sighs and tosses her long scarlet hair out of her eyes. The bright color catches my eye and I shake my head before I start to act like one of the fools who trail her around the castle like a lost puppy.

"I heard what you said about Hermione," she says quietly, not breaking eye contact.

I gulp down a sip of milk. "I say a lot of things about lots of people. You're going to have to clarify."

Her chocolate eyes flash with temper. "You called her a Mudblood and said that she disgusted you."

"I did and she does. What's your point?"

"You are such trash, Malfoy. How can judge people on their blood?"

"I don't expect you to understand," I sneer, my good humor melting away.

"Malfoy, you can't hate people based on something they can't control."

"Watch me," I shrug, taking another sip of milk to wash down the muffin.

"You're never going to change," she whispers, eyes finally downcast.

"People don't change," I shoot back. For some reason, I am disgruntled by her attitude. I feel as though I have let her down but, of course, that is ridiculous.

"Not if they don't want to."

I sigh, suddenly exhausted by her persistence. I flick my wand over her wrists and vanish the ropes easily, irritably stowing the wand back under my robes. "Go, Weasley. You bore me."

Her velvety brown eyes narrow dangerously and her lips part angrily. "Au contraire, Malfoy," she tosses back. "_You_ bore _me_."

My temper gets the better of me, as it usually does, and I rise instantly to the challenge, ignoring the stabbing pain in my side. "Sure, Weasley," I hiss, leveling a frosty glare directly at her. "Is that best you can come up with?"

"Bite me."

"Don't test me," I shoot back, a smirk curling the corners of my lips.

She flinches back, eyes widening, and I sigh, irritated once more. "Predictable much, Weasley?"

"I'm not-"

"Go ahead," I challenge her against my better sense. "Shock me."

Her face flushes, and I can tell about three thousand thoughts are screaming in her brain right now, and that she doesn't have the nerve to go through with whatever wicked thoughts are charging through her, and I'm almost disappointed when-

For the second time in about five minutes, I think I am stunned. And then I am simply done with thinking.

Her silky scarlet strands are pressed against my cheek, her hands are fisted in my hair, her mouth pressed against my own, and my brain has so completely shut off that I am unaware of anything other than the heat of her mouth. She moves away after a few dizzying seconds, and her hands drift onto my shoulders as if for support.

Ginny's (I can't think of her as Weasley at the moment, and I doubt I ever will again) mouth is swollen and slightly bruised, her skin is flushed and glowing, and her eyes are heavy lidded and intoxicated. She takes a few breaths and her eyes shimmer.

"Tell me what a traitor I am, Malfoy," she whispers against my jaw and I shiver. "Remind me of how inferior I am."

I can't even think, but it occurs to me that if Ginny Weasley is inferior to anything at all, I'll eat a Quaffle. I gasp and inhale sharply and she hisses, "Tell me how disgusting my freckles are and how my hair is a disgrace."

Her hair is the most beautiful shade of fury and her freckles are gold dust. I want to say so but words fail me.

"Tell me that Malfoys own Weasleys," she taunts, her breath warm against my skin. "Remind me of how much you hate me."

I think I am in love with the feeling of her hands on my skin, if not she herself.

Abruptly, she shoves me away and reaches for her wand. "Stay away from us, Malfoy," she tells me blandly, as though she hadn't just ravaged my mouth in the middle of the night. "If you can't back up all your big talk when it gets down and dirty, don't bother opening your mouth at all."

Glancing at my frozen expression, she laughs. "You seem _shocked,_ Malfoy." Shrugging her thick sweater back on, she leaves without another word.

I stay for a few more minutes, wondering if what had just happened was real.

* * *

**A/N: Didn't see that coming, did you? Whether you did or didn't, please leave a review! Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed it!  
**


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